We Only Deceive Ourselves
by Aurelia Delarose
Summary: Sequel to W.A.T.W.W.W which is currently down, summary inside. Draco and Harry haven't spoken to each other in 2 yrs, though they both work as Aurors together, but when someone tries to raise L.V, they have to..and things are worse than they ever thought.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: The war is over. Harry won. _

**_IMPORTANT: Because the prequel to this is down to be re-written by me, I will write a quick summary. Draco moved into the Gryffindor dorms in the seventh year, to help Granger in a magical experiment. She wanted to see if she could remove the Dark Mark. Harry and Draco get involved, but Draco cuts it off because he is getting too attached and can't trust himself. Alot better than it sounds, actually, and the plot is being totally re-written, a note for my previous readers, so check it out...uh... as soon as I get it up. _**

* * *

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had been working in the same building as Aurors for two years, and had somehow managed not to speak to each other. The hurt in Harry's emerald eyes were always apparent when he gazed back into Draco's cold, unforgiving ones. Though if he was to ask, the person whom Draco wasn't forgiving was himself. 

But, as all things most, this time of frosty receptions and wordless speaking had to come to an end. In about the most brutal, jarring way imaginable, short of rape.

"Potter! Malfoy! You two will be working together on a project. You'll spend two weeks in a safe house together as an observation point- I'll give you the address, make friends with your neighbors… the threats… and come back and report," Rhiannon- their boss- stated quickly.

Draco moved up, lip curled in a familiar expression of distaste. "Madame Rhiannon, I respect your wishes, but…"

"I know about your past, but ya know what? Fuck you. You can deal with that later. I need both of you working together for your variety of skills. Now shut up, get the keys, grab the Portkey, and go." Neither of them argued after that. Rhiannon wasn't someone to be crossed. Ever.

They walked stiffly, each attempting not to touch the other. But the Portkey was small- a keychain, really- and their fingers brushed. Neither reacted- not visibly, anyway, but thoughts, memories of their last night together were running through their minds, even as the Portkey brought them to a small apartment, in a reasonably uptown neighborhood- the equivalent of Soho.

"Harry," Draco stated, nodding, as he pulled out the key.

"Draco," Harry's voice was colder, more distant- and he had a right to be, Draco reminded himself. He suffered the most, after all.

He watched him for a while, then extended a hand. "Truce?" he offered.

Harry stared for a while, as if in awe that it even existed, then shook it, nodding. "I suppose."

Draco's eyes considered him. "No hard feelings?"

"What use would they be now?" his own voice, cracked and bitter, gave away the truth.

Draco sighed. "Well, I deserve it, don't I? I am sorry, but… things happen, I suppose. But I'm sure you've healed by now.

_No, I haven't. Some wounds never heal, Draco, and you were the first person I loved. And try as I might, I still love you. No, I'm not fucking healed! _But he resisted the temptation to scream and simply responded, "Not fully… but yes, I have."

Draco's silver eyes flickered. He knew Harry was lying- but he wasn't going to pursue that. He preferred the lie. "Right, then. Come on."

They entered the house, carefully looking over the small flat. There was a miniscule living room, a kitchen, one bathroom, and one bedroom. A note pinned to the door read, 'Sorry… couldn't find anything else.'

Harry groaned. "I'll take the couch, I guess."

"No… it's fine. I will."

Harry nodded. "Can you cook?"

"Poorly. That's what house-elves are for. You?"

"I can. Hermione is still against house-elves, though Dobby does help occasionally."

"Good. If we were eating my cooking you'd probably be dead. So would I, for that matter." _And perhaps that would be better._

"Uhm… okay. Is the kitchen stocked?"

"Yes, but we will need to buy more. How long did Rhiannon say this assignment was?"

"Two weeks, Draco. Did you forget already?"

"Yes. I wasn't really paying attention. I was too busy thinking."

"Thinking what?"

"Something along the lines of, 'oh shit, oh shit,' and 'I should have seen this coming," Draco smiled, carefully, cautiously.

"That sounds right," Harry responded. "Around the lines of what I was thinking, really."

He collapsed on the couch, Draco beside him, both careful not to touch. "Did you date anyone?"

"No," the word was cold, frosty. _How could I, when I loved you? _"You?"

"No."

They both sat there, neither speaking, neither needing to, both calm and content in the silence, more so in speech. For they both knew each other's voices well… once in hatred, once in love, and now… it was neither.

Draco finally stood, switching on the television. "Harry, do we have any movies?"

"I think Rhia would have given us some- she usually makes sure that it seems like a normal house for visitors…"

Draco thumbed through the drawers. "Here they are… oh, there are some good ones…"

"Did you read our cover story yet?"

"No… what is it?"

"Basically, we have two options: either we can be drug dealers-,"

"No. Too dangerous. The local police won't know about what we're doing and if there's a raid we could end up in Azkaban. Also, there are turf wars over this stuff, and we're not here for drugs, are we?"

"Nope… apparently, some of our neighbors are trying to help Voldemort rise again. So that leaves the second," Harry winced.

"What is it? Gangbangers?" Draco muttered bitterly, "because if it isn't, that's what we're doing. Drugs are just too dangerous."

"Uhm… no. Actually, apparently we're lovers who are fleeing from persecution…" Harry sighed.

"Well, no one can ever say that Rhiannon's subtle," Draco muttered.

"Heh. She wouldn't be Rhia if she was," Harry shook his head disgustedly.

Rhiannon Apparated in at that instant, smirking widely. "I did have ulterior motives, Potter, Malfoy. You two need to deal with your demons and stop it from affecting work. I'm your boss, so I'm in charge of making sure that happens, and quick. Here's your dossier."

Rhiannon passed Draco the papers, watching him as he skimmed through it, gray eyes moving quickly. "So, this assignment…"

"Is hard as hell. But I'm sure ya'll can do it. Just get into their circle of trust… and Potter, I have a potion that can help you get rid of that scar. Malfoy, you made it, didn't you?"

"The one for hiding physical markings? Yes." Draco barely looked up.

"Okay. So, smear this on your forehead and report back to me every few days. Got it, boys?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Yeah."

She Apparated out.

Harry turned to Draco, sighing. "Well…"

"And well, and well, and well… we could pass the whole day with these, conversations about wounds never healed, old times and old attacks… but it would be pointless and stupid, which you know as well as I. I do not deny that what I did was bad, but it is over. And…" Harry cut him off.

"I know, Draco. I'm not an idiot. It would be useless to worry at them now, like dogs on a bone. Maybe later… maybe when we have time. But not now. I know."

Draco stopped for a moment, nodding. "Thank you. Now, who are these… people?"

"Rosetta and Desmond le Roi. Two high-born Purebl-."

Draco cut him off with a snicker. "Are you insane? The le Rois are not high-born. Maybe compared to other, non-Pureblood families, yes, but… the Malfoys are high-born, the Parkinsons are high-born. The le Rois are far lower than the Zabini's, and they're already low because of the gambling debt."

He shook his head. "No, they wouldn't have been Death Eaters. They may just be doing this to return into the favor of the elite. In fact, that's the most likely option."

Harry was intrigued in spite of himself- Draco may no longer be the Purebloods' Golden Boy- in fact, years ago, he had said it didn't matter anymore, now that his parents were dead, but he was still a Pureblood, and as such knew the hierarchy.

In truth, Draco was very much an enigma to most Purebloods, and since his family was one of the highest, he was held in great respect. Draco Malfoy, the mystery. Draco Malfoy, the once-Death Eater. Simply his name carried the aura if his reputation.

"Why?"

"Because, the higher you rise, the more you have in your debt, the more powerful you are. Also, the le Rois are new at the game… they're like eager pups, looking for friends. This would be a good way to not only rise in power but get a lot of friends, quick."

"How powerful are you?"

"I'm among the highest."

"So…"

"It would be relatively easy for me to befriend them… actually, they may leap in my lap. And if I introduce you as a friend, you would automatically fall under that as well."

"Is there anything we need to do?"

Draco drew himself up. "Fix up the flat, and get some good clothes. No Pureblood with my status would ever live here, and if that's how we're going to attack, we'd better make my status obvious."

Harry smirked. "I may have been horrible at Potions, but I was good at Transfiguration. First, we'll make this flat much more gaudy… and larger…"

"Harry, we will be shopping, you do know that, right?"

The finished result was impressive, Draco admitted. Through both of their unique styles they had created a very elegant house. It wasn't a palace, but had it's share of classic books and paintings, and was certainly appropriate for a Pureblood.

The walls were painted a light cream, paintings and scrolls hanging on the walls. The bookshelves were everywhere, full of novels, ranging from Draco's own Pearl Buck to Harry's Jane Yolen.

They had two separate bedrooms, each as individual as the person themselves. Draco's screamed class and elegance, while Harry's was a bit rougher. But it worked. They worked.

And both men worked together, blond next to black, silver and emerald, in it's creation, and both were proud of the end result. Though neither knew what would truly happen in Draco's- Harry's- their house.

_**So, what do ya'll think? I had to do this, and the title comes from the Shakespearan quote, "What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to decieve." So, review, please. **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks for the reviewers!**_

* * *

Someone knocked on the door, as Harry jumped up to open it. He recognized the faces at once- Rosetta and Desmond. 

"Hello. Who are you?" he asked. It was not stated rudely, simply calmly.

"Your neighbors. Rosetta and Desmond le Roi. I'm sure you've heard of us… we're quite high aristocracy-,"

Draco appeared behind Harry, silver eyes sparkling. "I'm sorry. I missed some of that… what are your names again? He's Nicholai Edwards, and I'm…"

"Draconis Malfoy…" the name was spoken in a tone of reverence, bordering on worship.

"Yes."

"The…"

"Yes, yes," Draco's tone was getting more and more annoyed. "The Heir, the Dark Prince, etc."

"But… everyone said you were dead."

"Metaphorically speaking, yes. I've been in hiding for a few years, with Nicholai's help."

Rosetta stared in shocked awe. "May we enter?"

"Naturally," Draco inclined his head, moving aside. Rosetta and Desmond entered, carefully removing their shoes, staring at the room in adoration.

Draco sat down in a chair, Desmond and Rosetta facing him. "So. What is it?"

Rosetta seemed to have reached a conclusion, her black hair whipping around as she smiled, turning to face her husband. "Then there is no need for it!"

"No need for what?"

"The return of the Dark Lord. Not if we have the Dark Prince."

Draco cursed mentally. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. If they don't at least try to bring him back, we can't prosecute. Words alone aren't enough- hell, if that was the case we'd have two hundred school-children in Azkaban. _But he jumped back. "Of course we need him. Who else for the Dark Prince to take guidance from?"

Desmond nodded slowly. "And as you rise…"

"You shall rise with me. Now if you may leave… I must plan pending this new development," Draco's voice made it quite obvious that no, he did not want or need their help. He glared at them through half-shielded eyes.

Desmond and Rosetta scuttered away under the influence of his stare.

"Finally."

Harry whispered, "How did you learn how to do that? Switch so easily?"

"I may be an Auror, but I _am_ still a Malfoy. That was my blood nature," Draco muttered bitterly. _And a blood oath. _

"The Dark Prince?"

"Just a title."

"Why don't I believe you?"

Harry's green eyes bore into his silver ones… the colors of Slytherin, Draco considered, staring back. "I'm not quite sure why you don't, but I don't blame you. It's likely common sense."

"Mmm…" Harry nodded, moving closer. "Why?"

"Why what?" Draco countered, still staring at him, taking another step.

"Why is it common sense?" Harry took the final step, looking at Draco. By this point, they were so close they could have kissed, but only an idiot wouldn't see the restrained anger and passion in their glare.

Draco's eyes didn't even flicker. "Because, I'm not the most honest of people. Even now, I fear, the so called Auror honor has no hold on me."

Harry growled. "And why is that?" His breath brushed Draco's neck.

"As if you don't know."

"Humor me."

"Because the word of honor isn't worth much, in the end," Draco's mouth curved into a twisted scowl.

"Oh, isn't it? I find honor is the only thing I can trust."

"Perhaps for someone with an impeccable honor, yes, but there is no one like that in this world. I doubt there ever was."

"What about me?"

Draco snorted. "The Golden Boy," he mocked, his breath caressing Harry's cheek. "I know far better than that."

"What do you mean?" Harry hissed.

"You're no god, no more than I am. I oft wonder why you weren't a Slytherin… only one of them would finish up their cases as you have."

"Like what?"

"All the lies, Harry… all the little half-truths. And oh, all the blood. All the deaths, all in the name of caution. That's something only a Slytherin would do. You noble Gryffindors would never dare to do some things that you've done. But I do have one question."

"What? And, Draco, the Sorting Hat attempted to put me in Slytherin."

"It's usually right. You would have done better with us. My question is simple: You weren't so obviously… Slytherin earlier. What happened?"

"Have you ever… have you ever considered that people mark you? Every single one. Especially the ones who you're closest to," he whispered, gulping.

"I know that."

"Well, after you left," Harry whispered, emerald eyes growing in intensity, "I stayed in Slytherin. I told the Headmistress about what the Hat said. And I stayed there. Stayed there every single day. Met the people. And I grew to be more and more like them…"

"Didn't Grang- Hermione and Weasely object?"

"Not really. I remained their friend, and Hermione explained to Ron why I stayed."

"Isn't it ironic? Of all the plans we made… we never told Ron, did we?"

"No, we did not. He didn't react too badly. He's a good friend. But I grew to be like a Slytherin- released that side of my nature. I stopped being a noble Gryffindor. The remnants of my honor were preserved by Hermione, and Ron, and Seamus, and Dean and Neville… I owe them so much."

"With only five of them and a house full of Slytherins, I have a feeling that your Don Quixote syndrome was slightly managled… but you are wrong on one count."

"And what is that?"

"You're still Harry Potter, the bloody hero. You're not a Golden Boy, and your heroism instinct is the worse for the wear, tarnished, but it's still there. A Slytherin can be a hero, I fear, and being a Gryffindor as well… you have a snake's mind and a lion's heart. Huh."

"Why?"

"If I am the Dark Prince, you would be the Light Prince. You see, I am the reverse of that… snake's heart, both lion and snake's mind. Primal and raw. Cunning and distrustful."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Your heart… guides your actions, Harry… your mind simply gives you options. My lion is not so noble- it is the truth of it, raw and primal, simple thoughts, no trust, simple dominance and leadership. But the snake… the snake helps. The snake is what I usually let lead- dangerous, cunning, distrustful."

"And I am… what?"

"Noble, but scarred. You see the other options, the options I was born thinking about, now, and you follow them, once in a while, but it hurts, doesn't it? You hate it. But you can to it. And every time, it's just a little bit easier, a little calmer… mind over matter."

Harry breathed heavily. They were both so close… "I see. And, who do you think affects your behavior the most, Draco?"

"More than likely than only people who you allow to- the ones you love, or care about."

"So you see at last, Dark Prince. Who do you think scarred me?"

"I suppose me."

"Correct." A small smile played at the edge of Harry's lips as he raised a tan hand to stroke Draco's alabaster cheek.

"Hmm… perhaps I would have been a good Death Eater… after all, I have marred the Light Prince." He didn't turn from Harry's touch, but neither returned it as they stood there, Harry's hand still on his cheek.

"The Light Prince? Where do you get that title from?"

"Where I get my own title from."

"Which is?"

"Blood oaths. Bindings."

"What?"

"You know what a blood oath is, don't you?"

"Of course. It's a binding made by an earlier ancestor- it could be your parent or someone who lived in the 1400's. It basically forces you to do whatever it says, to pay off a debt or something."

"Yes. Do you know what happens if you don't bend to it?"

"I didn't know that was possible."

"It is. You've already taken care of yours as the Light Prince, I fear. If you don't bend to your blood oath and begin to do what it orders, by the age of 21- the age of maturity- you die. Then your life is considered the pay off."

"Have you…"

"Bent to it? No, I don't think so. I'm not the Dark Prince- not yet."

"So…"

"So, come June 5th of next year, I will be dead." He stated it in a cool, dead-pan voice.

"Why don't you just…?"

"I am an Auror. I cannot. That simple act makes me the enemy of the Dark Prince. Myself. Moreover, if I do… I'm lost. At least this way I just die."

"Who set this on you?"

"Who do you think?" his voice was dark, bitter.

"Your father." He knew it then, for a fact. His father had cursed Draco with this, thinking it was a blessing. "So, how would you… bend to it?"

"Kill the Light Prince," Draco muttered, "not something I'm planning to do."

Harry stared down at him for a second, moving his hand from it's stationary poistion (cupping Draco's face) to brush his cheek once more, then dropped it. "Well… and why not?" Harry hissed, "put both of us out of our misery."

Brushing Draco's hair from his forehead, he leaned down, lips barely brushing Draco's forehead. "Yes…" he whispered. "It would be so much better."

_**Dark, no? Anyway, please review, I have to know what you think! It makes my day, trust me. And the updates are way better. **_


	3. Chapter 3

Draco stood there for a moment, paralyzed. The first thought was, _Fucking bastard, _then, _wait… _

Harry lay on the bed, analyzing Draco's reaction, but the blonde kept his face too well-guarded… not emotions showed. "Is there anyway to get out of it?"

"Not without another, more powerful binding that counters this one. You don't get it, Harry. I never needed the Dark Mark. I was born with it, just below my skin, imprinted on every inch of my flesh."

"What binding?"

"I don't know. But this is a very old blood oath- and very few things can out-do that. I can't think of any right now."

"We'll work on that later… during our free time. For now.. what about Rosetta and Desmond?"

"It will be easy. Just get them to start setting up the ritual, and then we can arrest them."

Harry had stood up and began to cook, once again, and spoke. "Well, and maybe Rhia will give us time to work on your… problem."

"She will. She probably planned all this."

* * *

Rhiannon smiled as she observed the two through her scry. Desmond and Rosetta were eager… the assignment, she knew, would take about four days, not two weeks. That didn't mean the assignment would be over. She knew what each of their lives held, the Dark and Light Princes, and she knew they could break the eternal cycle of damnation and redemption. Both fate was a curse- Light and Dark were of each other, one and whole. There were two ways to break the cycle- neither was likely. One would bind them together inextricably, the other would kill them both. And staring at both of their broken forms, the only thing preserving them an unexplainable inner strength that no one could touch, she knew that both of them would select death, barring a miracle. And miracles were few and far between these days.

* * *

Draco observed Harry, staring at him so intently from the other bed that Harry had to give up his charade of not noticing. "What?" he finally demanded, setting down his book… _A Clockwork Orange,_ Draco noted. Not his copy, but… a bitter irony.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Harry scowled, falling back on the sheets.

"Why do you let Rhiannon boss you around? It doesn't make much sense to me- after all, you're the Wizarding World's hero."

"Well, why do you?"

"You first," Draco scowled.

"Alright. I suppose because occasionally I prefer to be bossed around. It's a little annoying, everyone worshipping every word you say, no one daring to correct you."

"How so?" Draco snorted.

"I'm sorry. It's annoying if you're not a dominant, egocentrical bastard named Draco Malfoy," Harry stated, lips tight. "Anyway, when I was applying for the position as Auror, Rhia didn't just look at my name and accept me. She snorted and asked if I could obey orders. I went through the whole process, and I was promoted immediately, people were promoted ahead of me… it was nice."

"Please tell me submission isn't your only reason," Draco groaned. Even as he said it, it sounded odd.

"Nope. She saved my life once. I was being an idiot, a Dark Wizard hit me with Stupefy, was ready to hit me with the Killing Curse, she comes in out of nowhere and kills them first. I owe her," Harry sat up, eyes meeting Draco's. "Now you."

"I wanted to hide from…_ them_," Draco said, in a tone of pure distaste, "All I could think of was becoming an Auror. I explained why, showed her my potions and she accepted me at once, working in the lab. This was my first field assignment."

Harry laughed softly. "This is about my hundredth. Rhia wouldn't let me stay behind a desk."

Draco rolled his eyes. "A hundred in two years, Harry, are you sure that's enough? Merlin, I'm surprised you're whole."

"I'm not really," Harry shrugged, pulling off his shirt, pointing at the array of scar. "See?"

Draco was, above all, a Potions maker, and had found out that healing potions (for deep wounds, or scars) were some of the hardest to make. Which meant, naturally, that he always attempted them. And the sight of all those scars was too much for his intellectual side to resist. He slid out of his bed and walked over, kneeling before Harry, tracing the scars with one hand.

"I could heal most of these… I think," stroking the one over his lower abdomen. "That one would be easy… most of these would be." Stroking the one on his left side.

"But this…" lifting his hand to a long one- curving from Harry's abdomen to his left nipple. "This would be harder. It's one of the oldest, isn't it?"

"Ehm... yeah," Harry managed to sputter. Draco, one his knees, tracing the scars of Harry's chest… he was having a problem not imagining Draco naked in the same position. He knew it was bad… after all, Draco seemed to be fine. He doubted Draco even noticed what he was doing… he was too immersed in the whole ideal of how he could heal them, whether he could create a new potion.

"But no… this is the oldest, isn't it?" Draco asked, tracing the final one, which went from the bottom of Harry's neck to his right nipple. "Yes, it is. And at your neck… it would be hard to heal, but maybe I could."

Harry tried not to shiver as Draco's fingers, ghostly pale and soft, brushed over his nipple. "Draco… Draco… Malfoy!"

That word- his last name- seemed to pull him out of his blissful trance at the thought of a challenge, a real challenge. "Sorry," Draco stated, standing up. "But as I was saying. I could heal those scars, if you'd like. I won't start now, but eventually I will, maybe after the assignment's done."

"Yeah, okay," Harry muttered, turning away from Draco. _Fucking annoying bastard. Has to go into a goddamn trance and give me a goddamn hard-on and be totally fucking unaffected and just… walk away… fucking sexy bastard! _

Draco's thoughts ran along the lines of: _oh shit, what did I just do… is he alright… and I swear, if he talks in his sleep… I should just set the Silencing charm now… _"Good night, Harry," he managed.

Luckily, Harry had the forethought to set a silencing charm on his bed before dealing with his… uhm… problem.

* * *

Desmond and Rosetta were at the doorstep early the next morning, gushing to Draco about the ceremony. He listened patiently, then asked, "When is it?"

"Tomorrow!"

"I…see. Well, this is excellent. Very good," he hissed.

Desmond beamed, looking for all the world like a puppy who had just received its first praise from a very demanding owner, though Draco had never asked anything of him. Rather, that was the worse of it- The Dark Prince never noticed him. He began to leave, but Draco's voice stopped him.

"Le Roi!"

"Yes?"

"Get me all the information you have on blood oaths and the Dark Prince."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you," he nodded, indicating that Desmond should go now.

As soon as he left, Draco relaxed, his icy composure melting away. "Aw, shit."

Harry smirked. "What, scared it won't work?"

"No. I'm more concerned about when to capture them."

"What?"

"Well, if it's too early, they'll hex us. If it's too late, Voldemort will have already risen."

"Draco Malfoy is worried about hexes?" Harry smirked. "This is priceless."

"Why? What's so funny about me being scared of the Cru- Imperious?"

"Still," Harry muttered, then spoke up. "Because, dumbass, you managed to set up a potion that helped counter the Imperious. Why not make it now so we can make sure we won't get hexed?"

"Because I don't have…"

Harry smirked. "I'm never unprepared. I brought a whole suitcase, filled with your potion equipment. Rhia," he shrugged, by way of an explanation.

"Merlin… fine, then. Don't touch anything, though. It's a delicate potion, and a hard one. I'm not letting you, with your potion-ruining abilities, get close to it," Draco muttered, unpacking the equipment.

A few hours later…

Draco held up the vial. "I think it'll be fine, but we'll see. God knows it could turn into anything… a truth serum, a color-changing potion, a poison, and lord forbid, an aphrodisiac."

"How do you know?" Harry chuckled.

Draco scowled at him darkly. "I am a potions maker. I am required to experiment."

Harry began to laugh. "What, on yourself or on other people?"

"Please shut up," Draco hissed, not missing the double meaning.

"Oh, pray tell. What happened?" Harry sniggered. "Was Pansy there? Did you jump her?" His mocking tone hid a darker pain. _Please say no, please…_

"No, _Potter_. Actually, I was fine… after a while," Draco scowled. _No need to mention anything else. _

"Oh? And how many times did you make yourself come?" Harry didn't quite understand why he was tormenting Draco, past he was angry, confused, and the only thought, the only base explanation was_ It's all HIS fault._

Draco stared at him for a moment, as if attempting to understand what had brought on his behavior, but he was not a mind-reader and had no idea of what his affect on Harry last night was, though he had a vague inkling. "One, I unlike you, rarely have to rely on myself for sexual graticification, so once. Usually I can get a girl, or a guy if I'd like, rather than playing with myself for two fucking years." Draco's hands, slim and elegant, articulated each word. "With that said, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Harry scowled. "What the fuck is wrong with me? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? What's wrong, Draco fucking Malfoy, is my fucking life!"

"You use fuck a lot when you're angry, did you notice?" Draco inquired calmly. "Now, what on earth is wrong with your life? What on earth could possibly be wrong?" _Saviour of the Wizarding World, perfect life. _

Harry snorted. "Everything I've ever really wanted or cared about is gone. And the one person whose fault it is, is standing here, smirking his fucking head off. Good enough for ya?!"

"Uhm… how is it my fault?" Draco muttered, but he had some common sense-and looking at the wreck called Harry, decided to use it. He set a quick shield on himself- Harry would certainly attempt to hit him, and moved over next to him, ackwardly placing his arms around him and ducking a punch.

"Get the fuck away for me, Draco."

"I'd love to, really I would, but I have a problem with leaving people with mental disorders alone. It's a stupid conscience thing," Draco hissed, hugging him again. "Maybe I picked up some Gryffindor habits from you- or simply in the attempt not to be the Dark Prince I started being nicer. Whatever it may be, it will pass soon, so I suggest you take advantage."

Harry turned to him, eyes blazing in anger. "Did youe evr want something-like a family- and never get it? I wanted parents, but I knew that was a lost cause, so I decided I'd start my own family. It's not really possible now."

"Why not?"

"Because… you just don't."

"Sorry, I think I've lost you."

"What I mean…" Harry wrestled with his words, then finally looked up at Draco. "Swear you won't kill me, or something."

Draco raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "Kill you, over a simple statement? Unless it's an Unforgivable Curse, no."

"Yeah, right. But what I mean is, you don't… not when you're like I am."

"A bloody idiot?" But the effect was lessened. His voice was soft, smooth, with no trace of his regular biting touch.

"No. In love. At least, I think I am. It's a goddamn confusing business."

"You're telling me." Almost too low to hear- Draco was talking to himself, really.

"Yeah, well. That's the funny thing. I am, and it's really dumb."

"Why?"

"I suppose because you were wrong."

"Well, I'm sure I've been wrong multiple times. Would you bother to tell me exactly which horrid occasion this was?"

"At the end. When you said that bloody stupid phrase…"

"Again, which?"

"_It'll be better for both of us this way_." He mocked the words. "You bloody idiot."

"Heh. I'm not the one whose falling apart. Here, do you need to lie down?" Draco gently pushed him down onto the bed.

"I'm not sick."

"Physically, no. Mentally, I wouldn't be sure." That was spoken in sarcasm, but… he was still Harry's friend, no matter what the fuck was wrong with him.

"Now then," Draco stated, sitting cross-legged on the bed across from him. "Why can't you?"

"Well… you can't marry someone if you're in love with someone else."

"Sure you can. Who says you can't love both of them? And there are such things as affairs, you know."

"Yes, maybe so, but it's not- not right."

"And why not? Do you believe there's only one person for each of us?"

"Well… yeah… don't you?"

"No. Statisically, it's impossible, one, and secondly… it just doesn't make sense. No two people are exactly alike, no two people are perfect matches. But I forget…"

"What?"

"You never meet your parents. I grew up with a fmaily," he glanced at the look on Harry's face, "no, no, I'm not trying to shove it in your face. I'm just saying, I know what it's like."

"What?"

"I found out some things about my pa-relatives after their… disappearance."

"Like what?"

"Both were having affairs," he stated it a dead tone, his face acrefully blank, as if he was afraid that if any emotion showed, it all would. Like how he loved them. Like how much he missed them. Like how horrible that realization was. That he knew why Harry wanted a family, knew that stupid wish for happiness, that could, apparently, be granted just if they were here, just if they came. Just if their was the stupid picture-perfect family.

Harry noticed the subtle change, and did the only thing he could think of. Just as Draco had hugged him, he turned, and slowly put his arms around Draco. "It doesn't matter now, does it?" he hissed. "You can't change what's already happened."

"Then you stop trying to," Draco hissed back, relaxing into his embrace nevertheless, because after two years of sleeping in an empty bed, it was nice to be held, nice to feel the sort of relaxation that your body managed to drum up from just the feel of another human.

"I'll attempt to, but I don't think I have to." Harry's head was sinking.

"Why not?"

"Cause… the world has a way of making everything work out eventually. Well, either that or you commit suicide."

"Huh. How… Pelagius. Pelphase, Interphase… Gusphase. I wonder…"

"What?"

"It's from _The Wanting Seed, _by Burgess. Don't worry about it."

Both of them fell asleep soon after, in a mutual embrace which neither truly started and neither wanted to leave, though both were unsure of the meaning- and their hope for it was different.

**_Review, please. Sorry for the torment- I will eventually get to the Harry-Draco relationship. Someday… oh, yeah, I'm a HUGE fan of Anthony Burgess. Who could've guessed (author of A Clockwork Orange, The Wanting Seed, Earthly Powers , and a lot of other great books.) Anyway, review, review, review! _**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Characters not mine, places not mine. Plot mine. **_

* * *

Harry awoke first, smiling slightly at the slight frame of the boy-man, he corrected himself, in his arms. Draco rarely looked peaceful when awake, so it was no surprise that he did not in sleep. His face was contorted into a picture of anger and disgust. He wasn't sure whether to wake him up or not- Draco rarely enjoyed being awakened, even if he was having nightmares. The way he explained it was, 'I have to deal with everything myself, even if it's just a bad dream.' 

Draco soon awoke up of his own accord, though, and nearly immediately, stiffened, then slowly relaxed, as if in a futile attempt to hide his original reaction. Harry noticed, but didn't comment. He probably wouldn't be appreciated. Draco stretched, lying back down. "

"Are you alright?" Harry chuckled.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're not hexing me."

Draco's eyes closed again, sleep-heavy lids concealing his silver eyes. "Well, and why should I? You ddin't rape me or anything. And Blaise has slept in my bed before. It's actually pretty funny."

"Mmm…" Harry nodded as well, head sinking lower. But the doorbell rang, and Draco quickly slipped out of bed to open it.

As he did, the realization struck him. You see, while he was lying on the bed, safe, soft, in Harry's tan arms… he tended to forget most of his common sense and relax, lulled to a false feeling of security by the sense of peace and warmth that Harry seemed to radiate. But as soon as he had left that grip, his sense returned, and reality, cold and harsh, hit him once more.

_Right. That was once. I was weak, he was weak, and, uhm… it's what friends do. Right. It'll never happen again. Right. _

Draco was still repeating that silent mantra when he opened the door. As usual, the Le Roi's were there. "Yes?" he inquired.

"Here. This is a Portkey to the place. We'll go around midnight, yeah?" Rosetta asked.

"A bit… archaic, but I see the need for it. Very well. You can prepare everything on your own?" the last phrase was more of a statement than a question, but he had to show at least some respect.

"Yes, we can. Thank you, Dark Prince."

"Malfoy," Draco corrected. "Just… Malfoy."

While others may have taken this as a sign of good-will or the politeness, or modesty, none was true. Draco simply despised being reminded every second of the day of his own fate, though he reminded himself oft enough. That title- Dark Prince- was disgusting and horrendous to him.

Rosetta nodded, leaving, her husband close in tow.

"Le Roi's?" Harry guessed, stretching out on the bed.

"Yes. Midnight. Tonight."

Harry chuckled, propping himself up, bed-hair apparent. "I thought you always spoke in sentences, Draco, what happened?"

"Tired. Annoyed. Hungry."

"Well, Caveman Ugh, why don't I just go cook something, and you go to sleep. Because I swear, if I have to deal with this for very long, I'll probably kill you."

"Lovely," Draco muttered, falling onto his bed just as Harry got up to cook. "Really just splendid. As I've said before: Death might be welcome."

"I dunno, Draco. Maybe life isn't so bad."

"No. I only have a prophecy over my head which will kill me unless I kill you, no family, no chance of a family considering that I'll be dead by 21, and oh, yes, if I fuck this up we'll have Voldemort the insane up all over again. Merlin, Harry!" And there were so many unsaid statements… _my parents are dead. My friends are dead, or in Azkaban, most of them. All I have is my job as an Auror. That's it. Other than that… I'm like Bartleby, and the rope that connects me to the world is falling apart. _

Draco, instead of whispering all of those thoughts, simply curled up into the fetal position, as if it could protect him from the world, and began to cry, not in a girlish way, but frustrated, violent tears of anger and bitter disappointment, of a lost world and lost hope.

Harry stood there uselessly for a few seconds, then moved over, kneeling next to the side of the bed where Draco was facing and pushing his face up, silently kissing all of his tears, his entire face, everywhere except for his lips, silently attempting to comfort Draco though he knew no comfort would be appreciated come the next day, and that it would never help. But for now, Draco didn't complain.

For now, Draco fell apart, the Ice Prince gone, the Dark Prince gone, leaving just Draco Malfoy, lost and desperate for any kind of faith. Because as he explained, he didn't believe in anything. Not love, not God, nothing. Just in himself, he said, and all in all, that was a pretty crappy thing to believe in.

* * *

The reasons for all of that were numerous: He had lost faith in love because of the death of his parents. He had lost faith in love because he had been raised not to believe in it, that it was a sign of weakness, a false mantra repeated oft enough that if became part of his soul, part of his nature. 

So he did the only thing he could, a built a shield. He turned into the Ice Prince, cold and heartless. No one could tell his emotions and after a while no one tried. It was pointless- Draco never let anything slip behind that frosty mask of hatred and disgust, his silver eyes never showing any emotion but anger and sarcasm. You never saw him smile, never saw behind that bitter sneer, which stung and bit and ripped and clawed all at once, and never understood… every bitter comment, every angry sneer, was not directed at you, but rather, at himself.

At himself for being so weak. At himself for never being good enough for his father or for any one else- at himself for being a yellow-bellied coward. Always, at himself.

And the scar began to appear- on his arms, on his stomach, on his legs… everywhere. But no one saw and no one noticed, no one knew that Draco hurt himself, no one knew that he tortured and tormented himself because all he could think was that this proved it, proved he wasn't a coward, proved it, so there, Father, and so there, Potter, so there all you stupid Gryffindors.

And then his parents died, right before his eyes, tortured to death, stared at by the grim eyes of so many Death Eaters, so many people in hoods and cloaks that were supposed to be their friends, that had showed up to every dinner party, that had showered young Draco with presents and older Draco with compliments. And they just stood there, useless, until they turned on them and set the Crutacius, then finally killed them. And Draco just stood there, in shock, as the very scared 16 yr old boy became a very scared man, as he truly went through the rite of adulthood in the most brutal and shocking way, Voldemort behind him, whispering, hissing, telling him to watch his back, telling him not to mess up again or that would be him there, attacked by Vincent and Pansy and Blaise.

And so, he ran. He didn't think, he just ran, bare feet hitting the icy graveyard grass, tripping over tombstones and gnarled roots, but he just kept running. He had to get away, had to leave this place of death and evil and destruction, had to go somewhere safe, had to, had to, oh, anywhere, please, someone… someone just save him, someone help him, where could he go, where, where…?

He fell, head hitting against an ancient tombstone, the grave left alone and undisturbed until that day, he fell, hit, curled up into a little ball as the forces of nature and man attacked him, but after a while, the Death Eaters left, leaving the huddling, shivering wreck that was once the illustrious, infamous Draco Malfoy for dead, leaving him to fend for himself.

He awakes, somewhere new that he's never seen before, being taken care of, by people he's never met, Muggles, where the name Draco Malfoy means nothing, where wizards don't exist, where Voldemort is just a weird name… he's taken care of, and petted, and saved. They keep him warm through the cold days of winter, heal his outer scars though they do not know about the inner, and eventually, he returns home.

Malfoy Manor no longer exists, not the real one, not the old one, not in his mind. This was just a palace, an old lump, not his home, never his home… his home had his mother in it, smiling and hugging and lavishing him with presents while explaining about the Dark Arts, whispering about ancient curses and blood rites, fawning and petting him when he did well, calling him, 'My little Dragon.'

His home had Lucius Malfoy, sometimes angry and cruel, sometimes not, but always, in some twisted, demented way, loving Draco, no matter what he said or did. And Draco knew it, and it helped, kept him happy, made him smile when no one else would smile, because he knew his father loved him, no matter what he said, and that look, that look of pure joy and pride on his father's face when he did something well- he wouldn't give it up for the world.

That was his home, where he grew up, where his parents fell in love, that was his home. This- this wasn't a home. This was just a house.

He spent his summer in the deserted shell of a place, walked the corridors that he had walked so many times before, talking to paintings with which he had spoken with for eras…but it wasn't the same, would never be the same, not without them there, it was as if something was fundamentally gone, something wrong, they were missing, their imprint on the Manor gone with them, and he walked everywhere, into their room, even, messing with their belongings, their clothes, wishing, praying he could find that imprint somewhere, that little bit of soul.

But it was gone, like they were gone. And he wondered what sort of twisted god would do this, what sort of god could, and he realized that it was no sort and knew in that instant that God didn't exist, or if He did, He had it out for Draco Malfoy. He realized that, and in the process of losing faith in God, lost faith in everything, in everyone, because someday they'd do the same thing, do what happened to his parents, just stab him in the back and walk away, maybe in self-preservation, maybe not. But it didn't matter, nothing really mattered anymore.

He tried to commit suicide a few times but it never worked. People kept on saving him, Dark Wizards mostly, the same people who really killed him, killed him on the inside even if he wasn't dead out… caught him falling off the tower, healed his cut wrists. After a while, he just stopped. Decided to let Fate, twisted little thing that it was, take over. Decided to break the blood oath, let himself die that way.

Harry fucking Potter steps in. Twists his life up until it was almost good, but he steps away. He can't trust Harry with his heart, can't trust anyone. He knows that now. He knows that if he does, he's screwed. So he just walks away, away from love, away from everything light and good and plunges back into the darkness that he was raised in, a Light wizard, but never really reaping the benefits of being so-called 'good', of being on the side that everyone loved and adored and worshipped, instead of hated and feared and spat on. He was still hated and feared and spat on, even though he was with the Light because he lived his life in the Dark, with the Dark, even if he was never on their side, even if he had his Dark Mark removed, even then, he'd rather be a Light wizard on the Dark side of Hell than in Heaven, where he saw flaws and potential disappointments, the loss of hopes and dreams, the loss of himself. He didn't know that just by denying himself the chance for happiness he was already lost. He didn't know, and wouldn't believe anyone who told him. Because, see, it's not true. It's all gonna be ruined in the need. It's better to keep something hidden, private, untouchable and untouched, perfect, then to really use it, gain happiness, then ruin it. That's what he thought, that's what he knew.

And he doesn't regret it, because he has no idea of what could be, what could've been. Even if he did, he's probably see the all the ways it would be ruined, and decide that a lifetime of misery and regrets, but with no more missing, was better than a few years of happiness and a lot of sorrow. Because, see, if you're in sorrow all the time, the pain dulls. It doesn't hurt so much anymore, it doesn't bite or sting. It's just a little thorn, always sticking into your side, but not as sharp, not as hard, not as bad. But if you're happy, then you're miserable, it hurts, it bites, it stings, always and forever. It doesn't go away and stop aching, it doesn't leave off and leave you alone, because this. Is. New.

But if you're used to it, if it isn't new, it doesn't hurt. No. Never again. Never again would he trust, would he believe, would he love or have faith in anyone or anything but himself, because even if he does let himself down it's nothing that he isn't used to, it's not like he gets his heart broken, if he lets himself down it's normal, it's nothing to be afraid of. And maybe, if he messes up enough, he'll die, and it'll all be over, now and forever. Then it won't hurt anymore. Then nothing will hurt. Then it will just be an ever-lasting peace, a final rest. A rest that he knows he deserves, a rest with no pain and no anger and no death and no anguish. Just sleep, an eternal sleep where no one exists so no one gets hurt. Where nothing bad nor good can happen. That's his idea of heaven.

And he said all this, hissed the truth behind the ice mask, told Harry the truth about himself, not the Dark Prince, no one but Draco Malfoy, the true Draco Malfoy.

And all Harry could think of, all he could do was swear to himself that he'd save Draco, save him, make sure he'd be able to trust again, save him from this self-induced cycle of torture and masochism. But he wouldn't tell him. Because Draco couldn't trust anyone. Not even the Golden Boy.

So Harry Potter just sat there, trying to kiss away his tears and worries, but knowing it would take so much more.

**_

* * *

_****_So, what did you think? Please Review! Oh, yeah, I have to thank the Dresden Files for the Caveman Ugh line. It's Jim Butcher's. And my never-ending gratitude to T. Felton. Gotta love him. _**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Okay. At the risk of sounding slightly idiotic, I have to say right now how much I love T. Felton. Thanks for the reviews, you're really reliable and nice. And give me plot ideas… also, sorry it took me so long to update, wouldn't let me. _**

* * *

Draco did what he always did- attempted to pull together his composure after falling apart. It was, he knew, what hurt him the most. He could never remain in a sort of… free state. He always forced himself to pull back the emotions, hide them behind the mask. That hurt him more than anything else- chaining himself up again, putting the cuffs on his own hands and throwing away the key. 

And Harry watched that, watched as Draco began to breathe carefully… in, out, in, out, 1, 2, 1, 2… began to calm himself and hide himself away.

"No!" Harry ordered, scowling. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Draco's voice was raw, hoarse from crying.

"Don't do _that_. Protect yourself again. What's the point?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't particularly enjoy being a wreck."

"Well, that isn't the way to deal with it?"

"Then what is?" Draco's eyes, molten silver bore into Harry's own. "Go on some fucking talk show with Dr. Phil," he sneered, "and talk about your _feelings_? Yes, I see _that_ working out perfectly."

"No, but I'm not Dr. fucking Phil! Draco, you're killing yourself, don't you see that?" Harry scowled.

Draco's eyes widened, his lips forming into a smile which Harry wasn't sure he wanted to see. Ever. It looked… nearly on the border of insanity, almost crazy. "Yes… that is an excellent idea."

"FUCK! DRACO! LOOK AT ME! Don't YOU DARE TO KILL YOURSELF, DON'T FUCKING TRY! YOU SODDING IDIOT…" Harry willed himself to relax. "Draco. Look at me."

Draco turned, pain and anger, (especially anger), clear in his gray eyes.

"Draco… you… geez, where do I start?"

Draco offered him a sad little smile. "With 'you're horribly fucked up?'"

"Good of a place as any, I guess. And you really are." Draco chuckled. Harry smiled at him. "Draco… you're one of my best friends, besides 'Mione and the Weaselys, and one of the best Potions makers ever, the only reason that we can stop those people from raising the Dark Lord…"

"Point being...? Not that I don't enjoy the compliments…"

Harry smirked. _That _was Draco, cocky and certain. "My point is… you're important. You're wanted, and cared about, and, and loved, and…," he gulped. "fuck. You're important, Draco, I think that's what I'm trying to say… er…"

Draco laughed softly. "Very eloquent, Harry, really," he drawled. "But I appreciate the sentiment… whatever I was able to make out from that mess."

"Shut up," Harry growled, laughing, shoving Draco playfully over.

Draco sputtered for a moment, attempting to balance, then fell over. "Harry, you are going to pay for that," he smirked, throwing a pillow at him.

* * *

"This is absurd," Draco finally choked out, exhausted, his head lying on Harry's stomach.

"Well, on the bright side, you're not moping anymore," Harry muttered, smoothing down Draco's hair.

"Mmm. And as much as I'd love to stay in this state of blissful contentment, we've got to get ready for midnight."

"Right," Harry reached down his pants pocket, grabbing his cell. "Who do you want for back-up?"

"Get Blaise. He's not in Azkaban, he does mercenary work. And he owes me a few favors. And Pansy. Her marriage has helped her personality, and she works with me. You want the female Weasely, I guess."

"Yep. And Rhia. She does field work for these," Harry smirked. "And she's great."

"I've realized. I doubted Rhiannon was the one who got promoted by sleeping with her boss. I figured it was more underhand blackmail, hard work, and determination. She was either a Slytherin or Gryffindor. I've betting on the former."

"Actually, she was a Gryffindor," Harry smirked. "She told me."

"Patronizing," Draco shrugged, sitting up, allowing Harry to dial the numbers.

* * *

"All confirmed," he finally stated. 

"Good. So, what's the plan?" Draco was sitting cross-legged across from Harry.

"Erm…"

"Erm? An excellent plan, I must say. Why don't we try this? When they get about half-way through the spell, (which I will know, by the way) I'll _Vinculum _Rosetta. After I do that, try to _Vinculum _Desmond, but if it doesn't work because he's on edge, go on attack mode. I'll help. But we have to act quick, because he'll try to get old Voldemort up to help and we can't let that happen. Blaise will watch Rosetta, so will Pansy. Me, you, Rhiannon, and Ginny can surround Desmond and bring him down. And Voldemort, if need be, but let's hope not. Got that?" Draco asked.

"Yep. But how will you know?"

"I know the rite."

"How?"

"My father. How do you think Voldemort returned? He taught it to me _'in case the opportunity ever came, Draco, when you must raise the Dark Lord in case that meddling Potter boy kills him_," Draco hissed bitterly.

Harry shook his head, "I think your father would have eventually seen that the Dark Lord was a crazy bastard."

"Yeah. And I'm supposed to be the next Dark Lord. Where do you think the title 'Dark Prince' comes from, hmm? Voldemort was a Dark Prince once."

A small, caring smile flitted across Harry's face. "Don't worry about it, not right now. Maybe later. After all, I'm sure there's a way to get out of it."

"Suicide. Or homicide," Draco collapsed on the couch. "Either works. But I prefer the former."

Harry turned to Draco, emerald orbs smoldering angrily. "No. You're not going to commit suicide. Or kill me, hopefully. But no way, Draco Malfoy. I won't let you."

"I fail to see what control you have over this."

"I'll chain you to the door, put you in St. Mungo's, whatever it takes. But don't even consider committing suicide. If you die the instant you turn 21, well, we'll see. But not a second earlier."

Draco's gray eyes flickered. "I suppose."

"Swear it. Swear it on your father's grave."

Harry didn't miss the quick look of pain that overtook Draco's face. "I swear," gulp, "on my father's," wince, "gr- grave."

Harry smiled. "Alright, then. Come on. You have about three more potions to brew."

* * *

Harry held a vial up to the light, peering at it's violet contents. "What do you call this stuff anyway?" 

"Patrocinor Venenum."

"Ah."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Harry, I think someone's at the door. Now, let me alone. I need to work on this, and you're not helping."

Harry checked the door- yes, Ginny and Pansy were there.

"Hello, Harry. Is this a solo project?" Ginny smiled warmly.

"No, Draco's working on some potions."

"I see…" she muttered, tight-lipped. She knew about Harry and Draco's history quite well.

Harry caught the look. "No, he's fine. Really. Come on in. We're waiting for Rhia and Zabini."

They entered, glancing at the surroundings, eventually sitting down in the five spread chairs. "That's Draco?" Ginny asked. "He looks… different."

"Yes, that is true, considering you haven't seen me in over two years. Now, do you have any qualms about killing people?" Draco sat down beside Harry, four potions in hand, facing Ginny.

"Uhm, what?" she asked, grabbing a potion.

"If you have to, can you kill someone?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Excellent. Harry, you have to be able to. Take this potions a few minutes before the battle- it works for a day as a shield against the Imperious and Cru- against two of the Unforgivable Curses, but not Avanda Kedavra. It does not block against minor spells, that's not what I made it for. And mind answering the door, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes and got up, returning with Blaise and Rhiannon.

"Right, then." Draco passed the two the vials. "Now I can continue."

Blaise sat down beside Draco- Rhiannon beside Pansy. Harry took the opportunity to control the conversation.

"Okay. Ginny and Pansy, once Draco hits Rosetta with the Chaining spell _(Vinculum), _you two go over and keep her down. Then we'll get into a square around Desmond- me and Draco on one side, Rhia and Blaise on the other. Who ever you're with, watch their back, no matter what! Ginny, Pansy, you'll be behind me and Draco. Alright. Desmond will be on edge- I'll try to hit him with the Chaining spell, but it might not work. We'll do what we have too," Harry stated.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What that means is, if you have to, don't hesitate to kill. If this screws up, old Voldemort will be back. And we don't want that, now do we?" Draco smirked, "because I doubt there's another Gryffindor Golden Boy in Hogwarts…"

He looked at all of the faces- from Harry's stoic determination to Rhiannon's cool certainty, to Ginny's uneasy shifting, to Pansy's wincing face, and finally to Blaise's grinning smirk.

Draco sighed. "Honestly, how many of you may have a problem with killing someone?"

Ginny winced, as did Pansy, both raising their hands.

"Harry?"

"Uhm… not too much trouble, I don't think."

Draco raised a sarcastic eyebrow, but didn't comment. "Rhiannon, I know you're not, and Blaise… definitely not. I can kill," he gulped, "if I must."

Rhiannon smiled. "Very well, then. Draco, Blaise, do you mind leaving?" Rhiannon asked.

* * *

Draco laughed, sitting cross-legged next to Blaise. "Is she really that bad?" 

"Good Lord, yes, Draco. I swear to God, that divorce didn't come a moment to soon. Did you ever marry?"

"No," Draco smirked, "but I wasn't in an arranged marriage. But hey, I'm only 20… maybe I'll meet someone," he shrugged.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Draco, do you honestly believe that?"

"No. But maybe if I say it often enough, it will come true."

"Draco, you have how many months to live, let me see, it's December 21st, day of the Winter Solstice… that would be why the spell is tonight… you were born on June 5th… oh, excellent, you have about 5 months to live."

"Oh, shut up."

"When was the last time you had sex?"

"You know the answer to that one, Blaise."

"Unfortunately. Draco, you've gone two years without getting any… anything, really. So, I, being your best friend, have decided to make you pick. Either go fuck Harry, or go fuck someone else. But, please. You're 20 years old and you rarely drink. Never go to bars. Haven't gone to a club in your life. You have not _LIVED!"_ Blaise proclaimed dramatically.

"Blaise… I'm not quite sure when you went insane, and quite frankly, I don't care. But are you sane enough to pull off this assignment?"

Blaise gave Draco a dead-pan look. That was an idiotic question. Blaise may have fallen apart, but he was still the Slytherin that he used to be, and never messed up an assignment. "Yes, Draco, I'm sure. But…"

"Drop it." Draco's voice was cold, full of hatred and scorn. "Just drop it."

"Draco, you know I won't. Just… do something."

"You know what? Fine! Fuck it! I give up," Draco threw his hands up, scowling darkly, grabbing Blaise and pressing him up against the wall, kissing him soundly.

He tasted odd to Draco, but Draco was past the point of caring. All the anger, all the hatred, all the frustration and tiredness finally exploded. All the pent-up lust, all the hope and cold crushing. And he was sick. Tired. Annoyed. Annoyed of himself, of Harry, of Blaise… but mostly himself.

And all these pent-up emotions, all these feelings had been held back for too long, and they exploded in that instant, and he grabbed Blaise, the closest person, and used him, used him to compensate for everything else, finally falling in the swirling white light, the harsh blackness of his orgasm.

But as he exploded in Blaise, reality hit him again. Afterwards, he coolly stood up, took a shower, and got dressed.

Blaise didn't ask- didn't need to. He knew Draco. He knew Draco didn't really… didn't really love him. Hell, if Draco did, there would be problems. He stood up and got dressed just as coolly, cursing the awkwardness that was doomed to occur, but at the same time, not really caring.

Calling Blaise and Draco a one-night stand would be incorrect, but accurate in a way… the action would never repeat, but neither was avoiding the other, nor leaving them. But they both knew it didn't mean anything. Sex never did.

**_

* * *

_**

**_Oh, and if I wasn't specific- Harry and Draco did NOT have sex, it was just… a pillow fight. Please review, they make me happy. It was supposed to be- note the supposed to- be a fluffy chapter, but… _**


	6. Chapter 6

At the same time, Harry, Ginny, and Pansy were in a meeting with Rhiannon. The subjects were varied… first, naturally, the current assignment, then their family lives, then, as things would be, Draco Malfoy. Otherwise known as the Dark Prince.

Harry turned to Rhia. "So, is there anything that's stronger than blood-oath magic?"

"Uhm… not that I can think of right now. Blood-oaths are strengthened every generation… how long has this one been in the Malfoy family?"

"Since the 1700's," Pansy stated. "Everyone knew it was Draco- his father had stated that there was only one more generation to go- added it onto the blood oath, in fact, and Draco was the last male Malfoy."

"Since the seventeen-," Rhia shook her head. "Yeah, I can't think of anything. But you guys have about a week and a half left, maybe you'll find something."

"I hope so," Harry stated grimly. "If we don't, Draco may just kill himself."

* * *

Everyone had gone to sleep soon after Rhia's talk, since the spell would be at midnight and everyone needed the rest. There wasn't much room… two beds and one couch. Of course, Rhia took the couch, while Pansy and Ginny, much to their annoyance, slept on Harry's bed, and Harry, Draco, and Blaise shared Draco's.

Blaise was more or less pushed to the edge, Draco in the middle, with Harry spooned around him. They had all set spells to be awakened at 11:30, no sooner, no later. They didn't specify how. Perhaps they should have…

"What the fuck?!" Blaise demanded, toppling off the bed.

At the same moment, Draco arched his back, moaning. The main reason being that Harry was kissing his shoulder. Both still thought they were asleep. But Harry realized that the skin he was kissing was strangely soft and responsive for a dream, and Draco didn't usually dream about Harry. He usually had nightmares.

Draco turned around. "Harry?" he mumbled, shaking him, though Harry's green eyes were already open. "This isn't a dream."

"Oh shit."

"That works."

"How'd you realize?"

"I don't dream about you. I dream about dying brutally on my 21st birthday or jumping off a cliff or putting a gun in my mouth and blowing my brains out."

"How pleasant…" Harry muttered into Draco's bare shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Yes, isn't it just?"

Harry hugged Draco tightly, gently brushing back his blond hair to kiss his forehead softly, then shushed Draco. "A purely friendly gesture, Draco. You swore."

"Ah, yes. But I cannot control my subconscious mind. Now, come on. Got the potions?" Draco sat up, getting off the bed.

"Yep," Harry tossed Draco one, drinking his own. "Are you sure these work?"

"Positive." Draco drank on. "Hey, where's my shirt?"

"What?" Harry had long ago abandoned his glasses for a quick spell. He set it. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"My black silk shirt. The one with silver lining that I never wear except for battle. That one."

"Uhm…under the bed, I think. Why do you need it?"

"Magical equivalent of Kevlar," came Draco's muffled voice from under the bed, as he pulled out the shirt. "Not to mention it has real Kevlar underneath it, too. Not too practical for everyday wear, though."

"Magical Kevlar?" Harry asked incredously, grabbing his jeans.

"Yes. It works like the potion, only it partially blocks Avanda Kedavra too. That spell is the high speed bullet from a .50 caliber rifle. It may or may not hit, even with the protection, it may bore through."

"You don't happen to have another one of those lying about, do you?" Harry laughed.

"Actually, no. And moreover, they have to be specifically designed for the person. But I do have Kevlar."

Draco threw him a gold shirt, also silk, with a cream lining. "Wear that. And lose the jeans. Remember, you're a rich pureblood. Look the part."

"Hah. What are you wearing?"

"Armani."

Harry snorted, but took the shirt and pants. Draco was about his height, only an inch or so taller, but Harry had more muscles, so it evened out, more or less.

* * *

Rhiannon pulled out an Invisibility Cloak, dropping it next to Harry's. "Right. Two people can fit under each of those. So, either Zabini or Parkinson will actually go with them."

"Pansy," Draco stated quickly. "Blaise is well-known for being a renegade and fighting for whatever side will pay. Pansy isn't well-known at all, everyone just thinks that she's Ceser's wife, and his family are well known Purebloods. And former supporters, though no one can prove anything. They never can." _I can. I remember Ceser Griffin binding my mother to be tortured. I remember. I know. _

"Alright, then," Rhiannon smiled, hearing the doorbell ring. "Let the game begin."

Two people had forgotten to take their potions. It would come back to haunt one.

* * *

Draco answered the door, smiling. "Hello, Rosetta, Desmond. I'm sorry I couldn't contact you earlier, but complications… and Nicholai, will, naturally be coming, as well as Pansy."

Draco stepped aside, letting Pansy come into view. "I trust this is not a problem?" he asked, raising an golden eyebrow, the tone of his voice making it very clear that it had better not be a problem.

"Not at all," Desmond smiled. "Now…" but before he could speak, Draco cut him off.

"Where are we Apparating to?"

"A field."

"Which?"

"Where our Master dealt with the Potter boy."

Draco growled, the sound nearly ripped from his throat. "He is not our Master. I am the Master." A primal force ran below that statement, not only Draco's anger, Draco's hatred of Voldemort, but his need- his need to rule, to dominate, to conquer. He was the only Master, him, him… and if any had asked what that primal need was, what it was past the point of being the alpha male, he couldn't clarify, though he knew. He knew where it came from, knew why… knew the need stemmed from fear, fear built into him, fear that in the end, he would be like his parents, killed by their best friends.

His solution? Don't have any friends. He failed.

Desmond didn't know that, but he recognized the dark undertone and didn't question. "Right. Well." Desmond shifted uncomfortably under Draco's hard gaze. "Yes."

Harry moved over, whispering in Draco's ear. "I think you're scaring him."

"Not as much as I will," Draco responded, but he turned away from Desmond. "I know the place. _Apparate_!"

And with all the cold hatred and confusion swirling about, no one, save Harry and Draco, heard three other, quiet, Apparates.

* * *

The field was cold, dark, the moon shining over it, it's tumescent cadence illuminating the bedrock, the soft light playing tricks on many an unattentive eye. The star shone, certain of their perfection, the icy December wind blowing past, ruffling Harry's constantly messy hair, temporarily displacing Draco's.

At one point, Harry would have described it as perfect at one point, as would have Draco. But now, they both only had one word for it, a word which came with the burden of their experiences in this godforsaken place. Hell. And soon more burdens would be added.

Desmond and Rosetta had set up the spell. It was old magic, Celtic, even, but did not obey the Celtic law: What you do returns to you three-fold. Draco winced as he saw the design on the rocks… he knew the brown-red markings. They were in human blood.

Rosetta looked up at the crescent moon. "A New Moon… a New Return," she whispered, the awed fascination of a cult member clear in her voice.

"Let the spell begin," Desmond smiled. "One of us at each point of the pentacle…" And they took their places, all actors in this unfortuanate play.

Draco listened attentively to the Gaelic-Latin phrases, searching, listening, for one… "Ac abs meus vis vires ego coacto…" _And with my power I compel… _

"_VINICULUM_!" Draco roared, wand out, pointed directly at Rosetta. She froze for a moment, hazel eyes opened wide, then suddenly, iron cuffs materelized around her wrists and ankles, unbreakable wrought iron chaining her tightly.

Draco's eyes blazed in triumph, as he broke the pentacle, purposely scuffing out the mark. It wouldn't break the spell, he knew, it was too far ahead, but it would make it much more difficult… but it didn't seem to matter, as Desmond had already abandoned the spell and was fumbling for his wand.

Ginny and Pansy ran to the fallen Rosetta, Ginny kicking away her wand as Pansy tightened the manacles.

Harry pulled out his wand as well, watching for Rhia and Blaise out of the corner of his eyes. This was when it got dangerous.

Draco struggled to keep his voice calm… this was just a protocol, but it had to be done. "Draco Malfoy, Auror. You are surrounded. Do you surrender?"

"_ACCIADO_!" Desmond hollered, golden light shooting out of his wand.

"Sonofabitch." Draco cursed under his breath, stumbling backwards as his shirt absorbed the blow. "See? Magical Kevlar," he mumbled, as Harry caught him. His eyes suddenly widened, and he pushed Harry onto the ground, hitting his head against the bedrock fiercely.

"_Contego_," Draco muttered, pointing his wand at Harry, suddenly smiling. A thin, nearly invisible opaque shield surrounded Harry.

Harry registered the crack in the bedrock behind where he was standing. "Oh."

"Stay down," Draco mumbled. "Blaise is-,"

"_STUPEFY!_"

Desmond twirled around, barely dodging the blow of red light.

"Up up up," Draco hissed, pulling Harry up. "Rhiannon's in."

Harry nodded, backing up towards Ginny and Pansy, attempting to protect them. Draco angled his body slightly, watching Desmond, but keeping tabs on Harry from the corner of his eye.

Then, the whole thing spun out of control.

"Ginny, watch out!" Harry hissed, seeing a quick flash of silver. Desmond was no idiot- he had back-up.

"What?" she asked, twisting around. She stopped the knife and punched at it, quickly. The knife went flying, the Invisibility Cloak removed.

A man stood there, dark jade eyes sparkling, his carefully styled black hair apparent against his pale skin. He didn't leave much time to be examined, though, pulling out a small knife and stabbing at Ginny. She dodged to the side, the knife brushing her skin, fumbling for her gun.He took the oppurtunity to pull out his own and fire off a round. One embedded in her shoulder, but as she fell to the ground, rolling, wincing as her shoulder brushed the ground, she fired off a round, hitting him in the lower leg.

He simply smiled, gesturing vaguely to Rosetta. A quick blaze of wandless magic filled the air, then, suddenly, the chains melted and she grabbed her want, turning to Pansy.

"_Stupefy,_ bitch!" Blaise hollered, hitting Rosetta square in the chest. She froze for an instant, then fell.

But that left him open for attack. "_IMPERIO_!"

Blaise shook his head for a few moments, his body thrashing as if in a fight with itself, then his eyes glazed over, his movements guided carefully, but not his own.

"Blaise?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Kill them."

He nodded dumbly, raising his wand. "Like hell you do! _Stupefy_!" Rhiannon hissed, the spell hitting Blaise perfectly. The interesting part about the Imperious Curse: You stop caring about anything but your orders. And nothing in those orders said anything about avoiding spells.

Draco, by this point, had forgotten everything except for three basic ideas. One: Save Yourself. Two: Make Sure Harry, Blaise, and Rhiannon Don't Die. Three: Capture the Rotten Sonabitch.

And that led to some problems. He had lost all sense of right or wrong. He had to finish all three tasks. That was it. No morals. No ideals. Just that.

So, when Harry turned around, trying to help Ginny battle the new opponent, he left himself open. The shield had long ago fallen to misuse.

"Harry, you dumbass! Cover your back," Draco hissed, moving over, his eyes locking with Desmond's.

"_CRUCIO!"_ Desmond hollered, aiming at Harry's back.

Draco growled, moving his shield over to block Harry. A sneer overtook his face, eyes glinting dangerously. No one was going to touch anyone he cared about with that spell ever again. Not his family, not his friends…

"_CRUCIO!" _He screamed back, the spell welling from his anger, his fury that anyone would ever try, woudlk ever dare to touch anyone in his protection with that curse.

He didn't miss.

Desmond hollered, his limbs drawn out. Draco watched, his eyes glowing as he saw Desmond's limbs twist in ways that he knew would be painful, twisting out of proportion. "FEEL THEIR PAIN! BE THEM!" Draco hissed, flicking his wrist slightly, placing the memories of his parents into Desmond's mind,

Desmond began to thrash horribly, hands attempting to move to his head, until they were twisted backwards, wrist popping.

"Kill… kill me… kill me now…" he sobbed brokenly.

"WOULD HE HAVE? IF HE'D RETURNED WOULD VOLDEMORT HAVE?" Draco screamed angrily, jabbing his wand.

Desmond threw his head back, screaming. "ST-STOP!"

Draco's eyes gleamed madly. "Never…" he smiled, looking up, silver eyes insane.

"Draco," Harry put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Draco shuddered then, a quick contortion as the anger left him… or at the very least, he stopped seeing red. He looked up then, clearly and stared. "Holy shit."

He looked over Harry's shoulder, at the strange, smiling man. Ginny and Pansy weren't there… he had heard them Apparate away with Rosetta… his eyes widened. And just like that, his concentration slipped away, and Desmond fell to his knees, moaning in agony.

Harry turned around, moving to bind Desmond. He no longer struggled- in fact, Desmond seemed to relax against the chains. They were less of a threat than Draco. Dementors were less of a threat, he thought. The Dark Prince was aptly named.

The man turned to Harry, smiling slightly. "Avanda KEDAVR-," he whispered, his voice amplifying on each letter.

"AVANDA KEDAVRA!" Draco swirled around, wand pointed at his chest.

The shot of green light exploded, hitting the man in the chest. He stumbled, then fell back, but managed the last 'a'.

Harry jumped back as the spell hit him, and he crumpled to the ground.

"Harry? Holy shit, Harry?" Draco ran over, hand moving over Harry's wrist, reaching desperately for a pulse… he found one, weak, barely there.

"Ha-Harry?" he asked, voice wracked with the sounds. "Can't die. You can't die. Come on, Harry…"

He felt himself itching to feel his pulse again. Yes, it was there… Rhiannon moved over. "_Apparate_," she hissed, as Draco lifted the limp Harry up, cradling him in his arms.

And no one noticed Lawrence Edwards slowly crawling away.

_**

* * *

**__**Wow. Thanks for all the reviews… again, please review, they make me happy. And no, Harry isn't dead… yet… **_


	7. Chapter 7

_**By the way, I'm… meh to the chapter, but it had to be written. And sorry it took so long. Again, kinda fluffy, but important plot point at end. **_

* * *

Draco reached over, the third time in under a minute, feeling Harry's pulse. If Harry was awake he would probably laugh- but if Harry was awake, Draco comtemplated, he wouldn't be here at midnight, still awake, worrying.

"Please, Harry…" he whispered. "You have to be alive… you _are_ alive…"

He bent over, brushing his lips against Harry's. "Please be alive…"

He thought he felt him stir, but when his eyes didn't open, when he didn't move again after thirty minutes, he put it off to an overactive imagination. And paranoia.

He didn't want to sleep… maybe Harry would die while he was asleep… no, Harry wouldn't die, Harry couldn't die.

And so, Draco stayed up the whole night, fingers resting on Harry's wrist, constantly trying to feel the gentle, weak, throb of his pulse, blond hair falling past silver eyes, bloking his tears from view, tears that fell all over Harry's face, the salty wetness on his cracked lips, closed eyelids… and Draco didn't care.

* * *

Two days had passed and Harry still hadn't woken up. Draco still hadn't slept. It became harder and harder to tell which one of them was on the brink of death. Draco's hair was dishevled, gray eyes weak. The bags under his eyes were becoming permantely etched into his pale skin. And he still wouldn't sleep.

Ginny scowled darkly. "Go to sleep, Malfoy. Sleep here if you'd like. But do it, already."

Draco tried to fight with his rapidly closing eyelids and found himself losing. He was fatigued and could barely speak, he knew, and he knew he should sleep, but… "Wake me up when he does."

"Yeah."

"Or… if he…"

"Yeah."

"I guess I cou…" he closed his eyes, and fell asleep nearly at once. He didn't have nightmares, or dreams, either. His body, dehydrated and under-nourished, took the time to rest, and attempt to heal itself. But Draco's position didn't move much, his left hand still intertwined with Harry's, one finger on the pulse.

Which was exactly what Harry saw when he eyelids finally fluttered open.

"How long has he been here?" he asked. His voice was rough, hoarse, but there.

"Three days. Hasn't slept. Barely eats. Rarely drinks," Ginny smiled widely. "I'm not going to wake him up now."

"Stupid sonofabitch," Harry muttered, but their was no malice in it. He looked at Draco now, at his pale, sleeping form, skinnier than before, more gaunt, bags under his eyes visible, his always perfect blond hair mussed, clothes the same as three days ago… the Kevlar shirt, the Armani pants… their hands intertwined, and one finger on his pulse, constantly checking… he smiled slightly.

He remembered the Draco of three nights ago. Mercury in battle. Gray eyes cold, harsh, points of solid silver boring into his enemies, blond hair blazing like the halo of an angel… perhaps a fallen one… he reminded himself… Draco, angry, passionate, cold, brutal… _Crucio_… _Avanda Kedavra_… Draco, the avenging angel. Draco, the fallen angel.

And now, the Draco above him, tired, sleeping, face undisturbed… neither happy nor sad, simply nuetral.

Harry smiled softly, his head falling back as well. Questions and explanations could wait. He turned to Ginny. "Did we win?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we did."

* * *

Draco's eyes finally opened. He had been asleep for 17 hours, and he was still slightly tired. The first thing he saw, though, was Harry smiling. He relaxed for an instant, then scowled, but his eyes never darkened.

"How long have you been awake?" the voice was hoarse, slightly annoyed.

"An hour," Harry couldn't help himself from smiling.

"Dammit."

Harry chuckled then, but quickly sombered. "How did I survive?"

Draco stared at him for a moment, then began to a laugh, a soft, incredoulous laugh that this was all happening, that Harry was alive, that he didn't know, a release for all his tension… and in the end he was laughing like a bloody idiot.

"Draco?" Harry stared incredously. "Draco?"

"You don't know?!"

"Uhm, no, actually."

Draco chuckled, reaching around Harry's neck to pull out an amulet. The silver was slightly charred and melted, but the symbol was still recognizable: a rampant griffin. He turned the pendant over in his hand, smiling slightly.

"See that?" he asked, pointing to the griffin's eyes, made of onyx. "Spelled. It soaked up the spell. How'd you get it?"

"I don't remember…" Harry sighed.

"Hmm… it's a Black family talisman. I'm not sure how'd you get up but for…" Draco recognized the need for tact, he needed it at times as well. "For your godfather."

Draco dropped the pendant, letting it fall on Harry's chest, but continued to trace the designs on the molten metal. "You shouldn't be alive. By any rights, you should be dead."

"Yeah, and you should be dancing on my grave, but things change," Harry shrugged.

"Yeah. Yeah."

"What happened to Desmond?"

Draco gulped. "He's dead."

"I figured."

"Did I really…?"

"Yeah. It was scary as hell."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence.

"But you know why I did it, right?" the words came tumbling out. "He was going to… going to… couldn't let him, could never let him, no…"

"I know, Draco," Harry smiled softly. "But as a Dark Prince, you're doing a very good job at it."

Draco sighed. "I guess I am, aren't I?" he took in a shuddering breath. "But it takes a lot to remove how I was raised. And… just that feeling…"

"Which?"

"That if you don't get them, they'll get you, or someone you care about. And I swore to myself I'd never, never let anyone touch anyone I cared about with that spell, never again," he shook his head, wide open in belief, hand moving down to stroke Harry's hand, once softly, then more and more urgently. "Never again."

Harry looked up, then sighed. "I know, Draco. Just… ow, that hurts."

Draco stopped. "Sorry," he looked down at Harry's red hand, "just…"

Harry smiled. "Why am I getting more and more confused about whose the patient and whose the strangely loyal friend?"

Draco punched him playfully, but Harry continued. "But, of course, we're not in a mental ward, or else you would be the patient."

"Hey!"

"It's true, isn't it?"

"Shut up," Draco chuckled.

"Well, get the fuck over here. I'm cold."

Still shaking his end, Draco crawled under the covers with Harry, muttering, "Purely for warmth. Purely platonic."

"Yes, yes, whatever. But I'm fucking cold," Harry mumbled, cuddling up against him. Draco smiled warmly, stroking his midnight-dark hair, twining a pale arm around his waist.

Draco closed his eyes, resting his chin on Harry's head, falling asleep. He felt slightly safer for a moment. These things do not last.

* * *

"Blaise!" Draco exclaimed, waking up.

"Hey," he smiled weakly.

"You okay?" Draco grinned.

"Yeah. You?" Blaise sat down beside the bed.

Draco tried to orient his head so Harry wasn't in the way, but it didn't work. "Yeah. Fine, I guess. He's alive."

"I can tell. I doubt you'd become a necrophiliac."

"No, I haven't," Draco bit his lip uncertaintly. "Hey, want to go clubbing?"

Blaise started to smile. "Yeah, sure, Draco, but do you think your boyfriend would want to come, too?"

Draco stared at him for a moment, looking around uncertaintly. "I don't have a boyfriend. Did you set me…," he followed Blaise's gaze. "Oh. He's not. And I think he'd look at me like I'd gone mad."

"You have," Harry commented, shifting in Draco's grip. "And I'll go."

"You're crazy."

"Look whose talking. Draco, when is your birthday?"

Draco winced slightly. "June 5th."

"Five months. Good Lord, Draco. These are your last five months, and you'll be spending them in battles like… like _that," _Harry sighed. "Is it worth it?"

"Is what worth it?"

"All the pain. All the effort. Is it really worth it?"

"No. That's why I want to jump," Draco's eyes were screwed tightly shut, his voice carefully monotone.

"No. I mean, why don't you just kill me? Wouldn't it be easier?" Harry asked, green eyes peircing.

Draco's eyes opened suddenly, filled with a raw, furious anger. "No. NO. I would… would never. No. Never again. No one I care about will _ever_ be hurt because of me, never again."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're suicidal, you know that, right?"

"Suicidal. Not homicidal," Draco stated coldly. "And go to sleep, you're a wreck."

"Look whose talking," Harry snorted. "Say, Blaise, you okay?"

"Wha- yeah. So, what are you guys going to do for 1 and a half weeks?"

"Try to figure out a way out of this infernal bond."

"Bond?"

"Dark Prince… where have you been, Blaise, on Mars? Really."

"Well… isn't the Light Prince just as bad? I mean, what if the Light Prince loved the Dark Prince or something. One has to kill the other, because they change into Light Lord and Dark Lord soon enough, so, to survive, one has to kill the other. Aren't both just as bad?"

Harry and Draco turned to each other for a moment, startled silver eyes meeting confused emerald.  
Draco recovered first.

"Yes, they both are, but how… "

"Bind the two," Harry whispered, in the shocked tone of someone who had just had an ephiphany, "Bind the two together. Light cancels Dark, Dark cancels Light. Both are gone forever."

"As bonds, yes, but there will always be Light and Dark," Draco interjected.

"Who cares? That will be their choice, unlike us," Harry's whispers were getting quicker, more passionate. "We have to. And, there has to be a spell. _Has_ to be!"

"Get Granger, then, when you're out of here," Draco sighed, letting his head rest on Harry's shoulder again, hand across Harry's stomach, absent-mindedly stroking the skin.

"When _we're_ out of here, Draco, you're as sick as I am."

"I am not."

Harry raised a sarcastic eyebrow, looking down his body.

"Point taken," Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Point taken."

They settled back to sleep soon after.

_**

* * *

**_

_**See. I told you. Meh. But please review anyway. And warning: it may be a while before I update again. I have exams,**_


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione scanned the pages.

**Part I- The Dark Prince**

Origin

The Dark Prince is not simply a devoid title. It originated with the Irish Celts, in the form of the Mothers, triple goddesses in one body. She was later known as the Morrigan. To prepare for her fight against the Dagda, she changed her form into that of a beautiful woman with streaming red hair, and went to a young man who had seen her washing his blood-stained garments- a sign of his upcoming death, as the Morrigan was the goddess of war, life, and death- and asked him to help her pick a hero, in exchange for his life. He directed her to Cu Chulainn, son of the god Lugh, and she gave him her love and her offer. But he did not recognize her for who she was and refused both.

In a fit of anger, she fated him to die, hampering him in battle, took his brother to be her Dark Prince. The title has been passed on through the Wizarding Community ever since.

Abilities 

The Dark Prince has many other titles, including Dark Lord, Shadow Prince and Phantom King. The titles "Phantom" and "Shadow" are not without merit. The Dark Prince has the ability to shape-shift into smoke if he so wishes, though occasionally the shift back may be tricky. This DOES NOT happen by accident. The Dark Prince must fully intend for it to happen. He also has the ability to predict death- the bloodstained clothes- but only his own, and he may not change it. What is done is done.

The Morrigan is the Goddess of War, Strife, and Fertility, (other sources say War, Life, and Death). The Dark Prince is granted powers by her, and is always an excellent tactician and often skilled in war. In fact, it is usually embedded in him. He may also shape-shift into a crow (like the Morrigan), another inherited trait from her. This also must be done on purpose. He has three forms, then, like his creator- smoke, crow, and human. His control over fertility is minimal, as he was not created for the purpose, though some believe him able to give birth, though no evidence has been shown of that.

General Information

The Dark Prince may be male or female, but the title remains Prince, Lord, or King. The Dark Prince is born into power, the four elements present at his birth, and the ritual must be performed by the current Dark Prince. If he dies without passing the power on, it returns to the Morrigan. The Dark Prince is altogether a different entity from the actual human- for example, one dead may be risen as the Dark Prince. The presence of the Dark Prince is marked by a change of eye color, a sudden appearance of a yet unknown birthmark, or in some rare cases, nothing at all. This proves very dangerous, as no one may tell the person's condition.

The Dark Prince is also a player in The Game, which will be explained later.

**Part II- The Light Prince**

Origin

The Light Prince was created by the Dagda to counter the Morrigan's creation. He was the supreme god, the god of earth, treaties, and the ruler over life and death. After learning of the Morrigan's plan, the Dagda offered Cu Chulainn his life if he would fight as the Light Prince. With no other choice, Cu Chulainn accepted, bound to fight until his death. After his death, he passed the bond on to his son, Connla.

Abilities

As Cu Chulainn was the son of a god and endowed with many extra powers, the Dagda did not give him any. But Cu Chulainn passed on some of his powers to the next Light Prince. Cu Chulainn was able to go into a warrior frenzy, like the Norse berserkers. The Light Prince may not do that, but in battle, any wound put against them will not feel as strong, nor weaken their body as much until the battle is done, unless it is a mortal wound. For example, should the Light Prince be stabbed in battle, he will not feel it until after the battle is complete.

The goddess Fand, his former lover, also agreed to help Cu Chulainn. She was a sea goddess, and gave Cu Chulainn the power to shift into a seabird at will. The shift is easier for the Light Prince than it is for the Dark Prince, and usually has less complications. Also, Niamh, her daughter, is bound to help the Light Prince in any way she can, and though she cannot directly interfere in the final confrontation between the Light Prince and the Dark Prince, she does always arm the Light Prince with a scabbard, (thought to be from Excalibur, as Niamh and Nimue, the Lady of the Lake, are thought to be the same), with unique powers- injures from losses of blood cannot kill the bearer, and it can cut through most anything, and is unbreakable.

General Information

Other Light Princes have been King Arthur, and Merlin. At the time of King Arthur, Morgan le Fay was the Dark Prince. The Light Prince, like the Dark Prince, may be male or female, but unlike the Dark Prince, is not born into power. The two must be forever fighting, and so he is usually chosen for who the Dark Prince is. The Light Prince's power is not directly passed on through pomp and ceremony, like the Dark Prince. Rather, whenever a Light Prince dies, the power returns to the Dagda, who picks the next one. The Light Prince is a different person than the actual one, like the Dark Prince, but there has never been a change from the Light Prince's appearance to the human.

**Part III- The Game **

The Game of Life and Death, or the Trial, as some know it, takes place every Summer Solstice and every Winter Solstice, after one or both of the Prince's 21st year. At that moment, the Prince conquers both, and they fully enter into their powers. The Game is often played at Stonehenge, the Celtic circle that was originally created for such battles.

The Game decides who shall rule until the next Solstice- the Morrigan or the Dagda. But neither risk anything in this fight. No, the ones who risk are their pawns, the Princes. It is simple: win or die. There are no rules. There is no honor. There is just pure survival.

The weapons never change. Two nearly identical swords- Excalibur for the Light Prince, with an emerald set in the hilt, the Morrigan's sword with a crow's feather encased in amber. The blades never rust, break, nor lose their razor-sharp edge. The Princes may choose one other weapon, whatever they wish. The Morrigan always gives the Dark Prince a silver arm band- a ward against magic. Along with the scabbard from Niamh, the Dagda gives the Light Prince a ring of destruction.

Once someone is at the point of death, the Prince must ask, "Do you submit to me?" If the other replies yes, they live, and whoever the Prince represents wins forever. If they reply no, they may kill them for a temporary win.

No one has ever replied yes.

Hermione ran.

* * *

Please review, they make my day! And huge thanks to my beta, fevers.and.mirrors! 


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Okay, this story is now obviously Pre-DH****. Does not comply with that story at all, except for how they got rid of Voldemort, and the deaths, okay?**

* * *

Draco turned to her, unsurprised. "Really? Now _that's _interesting."

But he was seething. Seething that anyone would dare to control him in this way, that anyone would even consider that they could force him to fight- force him to _kill_- and not suffer the consequences. So they were gods! So what? He was the Great Dragon. And anyone who crossed him, who dared insolence, would pay. They would die. The anger rose in him, a great wave, touching the tips surface of those silver eyes. Anyone who dared to order him about would die. Anyone who dared to order him to hurt someone he cared about… _someone like Harry… _would suffer a fate worse than death.

Harry took a deep breath, calming his nerves. "So, now what do we do?"

"Well, the Summer Solstice is June 21st, and Draco's birthday is June 5th, so…" Hermione stated. "Well, it will be this year."

"Next year," Draco corrected automatically. "It hasn't turned midnight yet."

Harry glared at him. "Not the point. What do we do now?"

"We train. We separate off into our different groups and train." Draco's voice was smooth, strong. "It's not like we have much of a choice. We are going to be forced to fight this battle, and we have to be as well trained as possible. That way, we manage not to kill each other before someone comes up with a plan."

Harry hissed. He didn't actually bother to speak, just hissed out a breath of air. Draco had never noticed that before, but decided to ignore it. "We have to. It's the only way."

Granger nodded. "As much as I hate to admit it, Harry, Draco's right. You're both evenly matched _now, _but what happens when you change? You need to know as much as the other, or…"

"Or one of us dies too early," Draco nodded. "Yes. Exactly. And don't forget, I know the Dark Arts. I may not use them much any more, but I doubt the Dark Prince will have any qualms with that."

"I know how to counter the Dark Arts." Harry's voice was dry, flat.

"Oh, do you? And what are you going to do, counter-spell me to death?" Draco snapped. He caught the expression in Pansy's eyes and relented. "Okay. Fine. Assume, by some miracle, I don't kill you with the Dark Arts. I'm quite proficient with a sword, Potter, and you, I assume, being raised by Muggles, are not. How exactly do you plan to best me in a sword fight?" His voice rose.

"And for that matter, let us return to magic. I am more trained than you are, bloody Boy-Who-Lived or not! You lived through luck and self-sacrifice, and you damn well know it. _And_ because _I_ was hiding behind the scenes. I didn't want to fight, and as I had switched sides unofficially, fighting would have killed me, either way. Now, considering that I _will_ fight this time and that sacrificing yourself won't save that pretty little skin of yours, what on earth would you do if I tried to kill you this instant?"

"I'd defend myself."

"Against the Killing Curse. Right now. This instant. With no warning." Draco's voice mimicked Harry's dry tone. "Please. I'd like to see that."

Harry stared at him, green eyes boring into the blond's skull. Draco didn't blink. "Potter," he began, his voice softening slightly, "if you want us both to survive this, you'd better accept that we need to train, and badly."

"I fully accept that. Why do we have to train separately, though?"

"So neither knows what the other is learning."

"Why? We ought to know, that way we can both counter each other," Harry replied. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, it does. What if the Princes show up? They may any time after my birthday. We separate, and we train. I'll take Pansy and Blaise," Draco stated coolly.

"And I'll take Ginny and Hermione. Ron's on a business trip, isn't he, Hermione? And Rhia, what about you?" Harry scowled. "This is a bloody mess, you know that? A bloody mess set in place by some bloody sadistic man."

Draco turned to Harry, eyes glittering darkly. "Do not_ ever_ say that about my father. He was a damn good father. Just scared."

Harry looked into his eyes for an instant, catching a glimmer of the same Draco that attacked Desmond, the same Draco that stared at a Dementor and didn't back off, the same Draco that had stared him in the eyes in every duel; the one that didn't fear death or spite because he was too goddamn angry to give a damn. The Draco that you did not cross if you wanted to live.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. I… forgot how much he means to you." His eyes were downcast. How could he be such an idiot? He knew Draco loved his father; he never said it, but he did. Why else would his death have destroyed the young boy as much as it had? But Draco's transformation wasn't really a destruction; it was more of a creation yet to come. Harry sighed. "Look, why don't we go get our stuff, okay?"

* * *

It was a funeral march, Draco thought, a slow funeral march to their shared bedroom. The second they entered that room, the second they put their clothes into their respective suitcases and left, nothing would ever be the same again. He entered the room, and closed the door.

He closed off friends, closed off worries, just for an instant, just long enough… just long enough so that he could finish this, so that if he died he would know he has left nothing undone. But that was a lie, and he knew it. He would always leave something undone. But, maybe, just maybe… he could work a little farther into its completion. He felt his body completely relax, go boneless.

This was it. This was the end. _Leave this room and there's no coming back_. He knew what he had to do, but it was harder than he had ever imagined. He slowly picked up his clothes, packing and folding. The air was thick.

"Draco?" Harry mumbled.

"Yeah?"

He sighed, but didn't finish the sentence. What could you say? What could you say that wouldn't sound horrible and vulgar, that wouldn't burn in your heart a month from now, that wouldn't kill you every time you thought of it?

Nothing.

They continued in silence.

"Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?" His voice was definitely enthusiastic now, almost happy.

"Here." Draco passed him the gold shirt. "You never know. I'm quite fond of guns, so, just in case… and I've been working on the magical aspect, too. It's not done yet, but it will help, I think…"

Harry took the shirt, fingers slightly brushing Draco's. "Thanks. But aren't you…"

"Scared I'll lose? A bit. Better me than you, though."

"Don't-," the word was choked off, mangled. _Don't go there. Don't talk about death. Not here. Not now. Not ever again. _

"It's true, though," Draco sighed, letting the shirt go. "All too true. Are you almost done?"

"Ye-yeah, I think so. Just, where's my book?"

"Which one?" A smile played on Draco's lips.

"A Clockwork-" Harry stopped. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Draco was still smiling his sad, slight smile. He leaned against the wall. "This is it, then. No more. The next time we see each other, we'll be out for blood. Not too different from the school years, then, is it?"

Harry gave a feeble chuckle. It was all he could give. "Yeah, I guess so. Do you remember the badges?"

"Fourth year, wasn't it? Yeah. Quite ingenious of me, if I do say so myself. I suppose the incident with the hippogriff was your fault, wasn't it?"

"That he escaped? Yeah. And it was yours that you insulted him. God, you were such an idiot. Not that much has changed, but, you know…"

"Hey!" Draco punched him lightly on the shoulder. "That's not very nice, now, is it?"

"This is coming from the epitome of niceness, is it?"

Draco growled, tackling him.

A few minutes later they were a mess of limbs, fighting, wrestling, laughing. _Just like the school days…_ _No longer, Draco, no longer…_

Draco chuckled, straddling Harry's waist. "HA! I won!"

"Yeah, yeah, first time ever," Harry groaned. "Now off already."

Draco laughed. "Doesn't matter if it's the first time. I beat you," Draco smirked. The door was closed. There were no Princes. There was no Morrigan. There was no upcoming fight. Just the two boys. And wrestling. And winning.

"Point made. Now get the fuck off," Harry growled, shoving him.

Draco smirked. "No, I don't think I will. And what are you going to do about that?"

Harry shoved him again, laughing.

* * *

Hermione paced. "What's taking them so long?"

"I don't know," Pansy sighed. "I didn't know the first time you asked, and I didn't suddenly get laser-vision to know the twentieth time you asked."

"But they might be hurt!"

"I doubt anything short of an amputated leg is going to stop Draco. And if he did get his leg amputated, we would have heard it. We've been standing here for an hour, after all."

"Well, what about Harry?"

"Granger, Potter's defeated the Dark Lord. I really think he can manage to pack his own luggage like a big boy, okay?" Pansy rolled her eyes. "Look, we've been over this. They're fine. They're probably just looking for something that rolled under the bed or some such."

_THUD!_

Hermione jumped. "We have to go in there!"

"Oh no we don't. What're ya thinking? If they're fighting or whatever, that's _good. _Least they get rid of some energy. We go in there, stop 'em from fighting or whatever, and they come out and they're still pissed as hell with all that extra energy rattling inside. Do you want to have a pissed-off Draco? Because he was, the whole time." Rhiannon glared at both of them.

"And Harry, too. Trust me, girl, you don't want to be going in there. Leave 'em alone. Let 'em get rid of their anger. Give 'em time. They'll be plenty pissed in the next few days so give 'em this."

"Got it?"

Hermione nodded feebly.

* * *

Draco dusted himself off, pulling Harry to his feet. "Come on, we'd better get ready to go."

"Yeah, I guess."

Draco turned to look at Harry, hair ruffled, eyes downcast, and sighed, moving until he was right in front of him. "Last day ever. We can't contact each other after this… it will be as if we never knew each other, as if the other never existed… and we have to do it."

"I know," Harry stated dryly, "I know. I've seen death, Draco, or have you forgotten? I've seen more death than I ever wanted to see, and I wish so many people were still alive, so many people I could have saved, if only I'd been faster, smarter, braver…" His head fell.

Draco lifted Harry's head back up, hands tracing designs on his cheek. He leaned in closer, breath blowing across his face. "Never say that again. _Do you hear me?_ NEVER." Gray eyes bore into his skull. "It was not your fault. You couldn't have done anything about it. But now the Horcruxes are gone, and he's gone. So stop."

Harry looked up at him. "I…"

"You couldn't have. Not without dying, and what use would you have been dead? _I_ could have done something, but I didn't. I hate myself for it. You did everything you could. _Let it go." _

Harry nodded slowly. "Well, we'd better get going, okay?"

"We've said that at least four times, and yet we're still in here," Draco grinned.

"You know what will happen when we leave."

"Yes. Yes, I do." Draco nodded, fingers tracing Harry's features. "I know." His fingers lingered over Harry's lips. "If I could stay in here forever, I would. I don't want to leave. I don't want to die." He removed his hands. "But I have to."

"Yes, I know that."

Draco smiled sadly. "But, in case of my death, know this…" he leaned in closer, lips brushing his. "I love you."

He thought for an instant, one mad, wild instant, of pushing Harry down and taking him on the floor like an animal, like a common whore… he stopped that line of thought in an second.

He smiled sardonically, twisted around, and closed the door behind him.

* * *

In the re-written version of What A Tangled Web We Weave

Please review, they make me happy! I can see this story coming to a close… sob


End file.
